The Forgotten Child
by Evening Nightshade
Summary: AU. Young Estel encounters a mysterious elf late at night. Who is she, why is Elrond so reluctant to talk about her, and what is her connection to the beautiful maiden he meets years later? Chapter Seven is up!
1. Prologue: Drowning

DICLAIMER: Alas, I do not own Estel, Elrond or any other characters you may recognise for "The Lord Of The Rings". The only character who belongs to me is Ismene.  
  
SUMMARY: Slightly AU. Young Estel encounters a mysterious elf-child late one night. Who is she, why is Elrond so reluctant to talk to her, and what is her connection to the beautiful maiden her meets years later.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Love feedback, so please review if you like it.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
PROLOGUE: DROWNING  
  
A petrified scream shattered the morning stillness. Tendrils of ice reverberated down the spines of all how heard it.  
  
"Amme! Ada!"  
  
"ISMENE!" The two elves raced to the icy lake, murmuring a prayer to the Valar.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The girl had awoken to find the world covered in a sheen of pure, untarnished whiteness: the first snowfall of winter. She had dressed hurriedly, throwing on a thick woollen cloak and her snow boots. It was not the blanket of whiteness that lured this particular elfling outdoors, but the promise of something greater, something more thrilling and exhilarating than mere snowball fights with her siblings.  
  
Like a flame draws a moth, the ice-covered lake beckoned the girl to its banks. Tentatively, she stepped onto the sheet of frozen water, and began to glide like a dancer, arms raised, posture erect.  
  
Crack!  
  
She stiffened, her senses tingling. Nothing happened so shrugged and resumed her skating.  
  
Then, it happened.  
  
Without warning, the ice underfoot gave way, plunging the child into the frigid waters below.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
"Nin iell!" Her mother's shriek echoed in the valley.  
  
Three dark-haired elves dived in after the child, who clawed frantically through her frozen.  
  
"Ismene!" Her twin sobbed, burying her face in her mother's skirts. "Amme, will she be all right?" One of the elves rose for air, dragging an unconscious bundle with him. "I have her!"  
  
His two companions pulled themselves up. "Give her to me!" The eldest demanded. "Hold on, nin iell!"  
  
Another elf came running, and spread his cloak out on the ground, upon which the unconscious child was laid. Her father kissed her blue cheeks. A wave a horror descended upon him. The girl was not breathing!  
  
He pressed his lips to hers, forcing air into her flooded lungs, compressing her chest, trying to elicit a pulse. Nothing happened. He repeated the actions more vigorously.  
  
But it was too late.  
  
That evening, the valley of Imladris was filled with mournful laments for a life so short, so tragic.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:  
  
Amme = Mother  
  
Ada = Father  
  
Nin iell = My daughter. 


	2. Chapter One: Illusions

DISCLAIMER: See Prologue.  
  
CHAPTER ONE: ILLUSIONS  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The day was drawing to a close. A young boy of seven stood on a balcony overlooking Rivendell, and sighed softly. Just another day; another monotonous, lonely day.  
  
"Estel?"  
  
The boy turned, a faint smile crossing his lips. "Hello, Ada," he greeted the elven lord, a note of weariness in is voice.  
  
"Mani naa ta, nin ion?"  
  
"Nothing, Ada," Estel replied with a sigh.  
  
"You feel lonely?" Elrond guessed.  
  
The boy nodded. "There are no children my age, and Elladan and Elrohir are always away hunting Orcs. I just want someone to play with, that's all. I just want a friend."  
  
Elrond ruffled the boy's brown hair. "Do not worry, child. Come inside, dinner is almost ready."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Estel had no idea what had awoken him. He sat up in bed, grinding his fists into his eyes, and yawned. Moonlight poured in through the window, dancing upon the floor.  
  
Then, he heard it: a soft giggle.  
  
"Who is there?" He swung his legs out of bed, and cautiously paddled to the door. "Who is it? Ada? Elladan? Elrohir?" Turning the door handle gingerly, he peered into the corridor.  
  
The young human could not believe his eyes.  
  
A girl of around seven, dressed in a fine elven robe, skipped happily along the hallway, her dark braids swinging back and forth over her ears. She turned, her tourmaline eyes casting their quizzical gaze in Estel's direction.  
  
"Mae govannen," she whispered.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
A smile crossed her lips. "I am a child, just like you."  
  
"I mean, what is your name?"  
  
The girl bit her lip. "I cannot remember," she admitted sheepishly. "It had been a long time since I have spoken to anyone; so long since I have had a friend." She sighed forlornly, sinking to the floor.  
  
Estel knelt beside her. "I know how you feel sometimes..."  
  
"Nin ion, who are you talking to?" Elrond's voice filled the air.  
  
The boy turned to face the elven lord. "This little girl here, Ada." He pointed.  
  
Elrond narrowed his eyes. "Estel, there is no-one there!"  
  
"Yes, there is!" He protested, turning to face her.  
  
The girl was gone.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Ada, I am not halluci - hillucan -"  
  
"Hallucinating, Estel." The elf lord crumpled a few dried leaves and tossed them into a simmering pot, before stirring the viscous green liquid. He then lay a cool hand on the child's forehead. "Hallucinations, delirium, a temperature. You may be coming down with a fever." Pouring some of the liquid into a goblet, he handed it to the boy. "Drink this."  
  
Grimacing, the boy reluctantly accepted the potion. His face contoured into a wave of displeasure as he swallowed it. Dropping the goblet, he clutched his stomach. "I think I am going to be sick!"  
  
"Nice try, Estel. That was a trick that Elladan and Elrohir favoured."  
  
The boy glowered at the elven lord. "Ada there was a little girl! Honest! She was about my age, and she had black hair and sort of greeny-blue eyes and -"  
  
"Estel, be quiet!"  
  
The boy's lower lip trembled. "Ada..."  
  
Elrond grabbed the boy's wrist. "Listen carefully. You are not to speak of this girl again? Do you understand?" A lone tear trickled from the child's eyes as he nodded. Brushing a kiss to Estel's brow, the elf lord said, "Goodnight, child."  
  
The boy did not answer, and shuffled back to his bedroom.  
  
Sighing, the elf lord sank into an armchair, rubbing a hand to his forehead. Estel had to be hallucinating... It was impossible that... From the corner of his eye, he spotted an object lying carelessly on the polished tiles. Elrond rose, and picked up the stiffed bear, clutching it to his chest. Tears welled in his eyes, and he sobbed silently into the toy.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:  
  
nin ion = my son  
  
Mani naa ta, = is something wrong  
  
Mae govannen = welcome.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Thanks for reading. Please review! 


	3. Chapter Two: The Girl Across The Lake

DISCLAIMER: See Prologue.  
  
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to my kind reviewers: hobbitsrfun, Lady Mercury, arabella thorne and aragog. Cheers, and keep 'em coiming!  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: As the summary states, this story is AU. I know that, in Middle Earth, when an elf dies, their soul goes to the Halls of Mandos. However, I have changed that ever so slightly, so it fits in with this story. I just felt the need to mention this before the flames start coming in, complaining that I ought to "get my facts right".  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
CHAPTER TWO: THE GIRL ACROSS THE LAKE  
  
Gilraen smiled softly at the sleeping child huddled beneath a mountain of blankets. She brushed a stray hair from his face, sighing. He was the image of his late father, her beloved Arathorn: the same dark hair, the same brooding sea-grey eyes. She bent, and kissed her son's cheek.  
  
A soft knock drew Gilraen out of her reverie. "Come in."  
  
Elrond slipped silently into the room, his teal robes swaying in the slight autumn breeze. He carefully closed the door, and leaned against the wall, eyeing mother and child. Gilraen tore her gaze from the sleeping form and turned to the elf-lord who had taken in her and her infant son.  
  
"Has his fever abated?" Elrond asked. The only response he received was a nod. "Something troubles you, Gilraen. I can sense it..."  
  
"My son is ill!" She snapped. "How else do you expect me to feel?" She rose from her chair, her lip trembling. "He is hallucinating, Elrond! Surely something is seriously wrong with him!"  
  
Elrond sighed. He had sat up in his study all night, thinking about his treatment of the boy. Perhaps he had overreacted. At the very least, he could have seen the child to bed. But he had allowed anger to break through his normally indifferent aura, and had taken it out on an ill child, who needed affection, not scoldings. 'Even elf-lords make mistakes,' he thought ruefully. 'When Estel awakes, I will make it up to him for my behaviour last night.'  
  
"Perhaps he just has an overactive imagination. After all, most children invent stories or have imaginary friends. Estel is probably going through one of those phases. I would not worry myself, Gilraen. He will be fine."  
  
The woman nodded. Elrond lay a hand on her shoulder. "Go back to your chamber. I will sit with him for the rest of the day."  
  
Estel groaned in his sleep, thrashing violently at some apparition in his dreams. Elrond pulled away one of the bedcovers, and sought the boy's hand. Lacing the small (and dirty, he noted with a raised brow) fingers through his own, he murmured an elven chant to banish nightmares. The child flailed one last time before sinking into a peaceful repose.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"But there was a girl, honest!" Estel pressed. "Amme, I'm not lying! I'm not!"  
  
Gilraen shook her head. "Stop making things up! You were probably dreaming. There is no little girl in Rivendell."  
  
Seeing no hope in his attempt to convince his mother, the boy turned to Elrond. "Ada, you believe me!"  
  
The elf-lord beckoned the child up from where he was kneeling on the sitting room rug, and perched the boy in his lap. "Estel, I want you to listen to me: you were ill that night. The girl was not, and is not, real. She is just a figment of your imagination. Fever does that to a person: makes them see things that are not there."  
  
"But she spoke to me!"  
  
"Sight is not the sense that is distorted by fever, Estel."  
  
The child stared at Elrond, confusion evident in his grey eyes. "What does distorted mean?"  
  
The elf-lord sighed. He kept forgetting that it was necessary to use simpler words around the child, instead of delving into his vast vocabulary. "It means that your other senses are affected too. So you may hear things as well as see things."  
  
The boy folded his arms across his chest in a measure of defiance. "I know that what I saw was real. She was real! Please Ada," Tears welled up in child's eyes. "I'm not lying!"  
  
Elrond sighed, deciding to end this debate now before it became any more heated. He motioned Estel closer. "Run along outside and pick some flowers for your mother. I think she would like that."  
  
Argument temporarily forgotten, the young human leapt off his foster- father's lap and disappeared down the hallway, his footsteps echoing off the marble floor.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Golden autumn melted into frosty winter. As with most winters, comes...  
  
"Snow!" Estel cried happily, bouncing up and down on his father's sleeping form. "Ada, wake up! Snow!"  
  
The elf lord groaned, and tried to manoeuvre himself out of bed, a task that was hindered greatly by the overexcited child who was at present trampling Elrond in his hyperactive state. With one final leap, he landed heavily on Elrond's stomach, forcing the air from the elf's lungs.  
  
Elrond gently pushed the child off his body and onto the soft mattress. "Calm down Estel!" He gasped. "If you keep this up, you will rip your night- shirt, and I doubt that will please you mother."  
  
"But, Ada! It's snowing!"  
  
The elf lord rubbed his eyes to adjust his bleary vision to the light. "Lovely," he muttered. "Go and tell your mother."  
  
"Amme!" Estel cried, bolting out of the room, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Elrond collapsed on the bed, his eyes glazing over as he drifted back into the throes of slumber. For at least an hour, he lay in peaceful, untroubled sleep, oblivious to the outside world.  
  
Then, he sat bolt upright. The lake!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
After Gilraen had ensured that he was sufficiently wrapped up against the cold, despite her son's protests that three woollen tunics was slightly overboard, Estel raced down the corridor, assuring his mother that he would wear gloves and not get into another snowball fight with any of the older elves, especially after what happened last year. Glorfindel had attempted to amuse the child by participating in this game, only to suffer a broken leg when he fell down the stairs after his young charge had brought a snowball into the house and thrown it at the blond elf in a temper.  
  
Skipping happily down the path, Estel began to sing one of the songs Erestor had taught him, the 'Fall of Gil-Galad'. Despite his tutor's assumptions, the child did pay attention during some lessons, usually the ones involving stories (or histories, as Erestor called them) about battles.  
  
The path from the House led to his Ada's garden. Still singing, Estel swung open the silver gate, (having been punished too many times by clambering up the marble wall) and entered the garden. Normally so lush and full of greenery, now bare, save for the holly tree in the centre.  
  
"Hello, Estel!" Lindir greeted, appearing from behind the child.  
  
He grinned. "Lindir!" He ran and hugged the elf. "I am going to build a snow elf!" Estel pronounced, staring wide-eyed and expectantly at his companion. "Would you like to help?"  
  
"Um... I... Maybe later." Lindir replied, having learned that Estel and snow were not a good combination.  
  
Content with that promise, the child sauntered out the enclosure and headed for the lake.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Where is Estel?!" Elrond demanded, throwing open the doors to the sitting room, not noticing how his emerald robes caught in them as they slammed shut.  
  
Gilraen looked up from her embroidery. "He went outside. Do not worry, though," she added hastily, seeing the panic that filled the elf-lord's dark eyes. "I have warned him: no snowball fights this time."  
  
"He is outside? Unaccompanied?"  
  
She stared at him. "Yes. Elrond, is something wrong?" She asked, terror rising in her heart.  
  
He ran across the room to fetch his cloak from where it was hung, ignoring the ripping sound that was his robes tearing. "I must find Estel!" Turning swiftly, he raced down the corridor, muttering a prayer to Elbereth that the boy was safe. 'If anything happens to him, I will never forgive myself!' He thought.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Estel..."  
  
The young human stiffened, the unfamiliar voice sending a shiver down his spine. He spun his head round urgently, looking for the owner of that voice; but he was utterly alone.  
  
"Estel..."  
  
"Who is it?" He called in return.  
  
Like an image from a dream, the little girl stepped out from behind a tree. "It's me, Estel. Do you remember me?" She smiled softly at the boy who stared at her in nothing less than astonishment.  
  
"You are real!" He gasped, stepping closer to her. "Ada said I was dreaming, that I was seeing things, but you are real!"  
  
The girl giggled. "You are strange." Shaking her head, a grin crossed her face. "Estel? Have you ever skated?"  
  
The boy blinked. "No. I have never even heard of it. What is skating?"  
  
"You'll see..." She whispered mysteriously, beckoning him to follow her.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Just copy me," the girl explained, stepping confidently onto the ice- covered lake. With perfect balance, she stood on one leg, and leaned forward, floating effortlessly across the sheet of frozen water.  
  
Not wanting to be outdone, especially by a girl, Estel walked onto the ice. The next thing he knew was pain: cold pain on his back.  
  
"You are clumsy!" The girl was unable to contain her amusement at the young human lying sprawled on the ice. "Get up."  
  
He leaned on one elbow, only for his arm to give way, sending onto his back again. "Give me your hand."  
  
The girl recoiled. "No!" She manoeuvred herself back. "You will only pull me down too. Now get up and stop acting like a baby!"  
  
After several (unsuccessful) attempts, Estel managed to pull himself to his feet. The girl surveyed him sceptically, then began to glide towards the centre of the lake. He followed, albeit clumsily, but luckily, the boy managed to keep his balance  
  
"Did you ever remember your name?" Estel enquired. The girl shook her head. "How about if I guess names and you tell me if any of them sound familiar?"  
  
"That sounds good." She smiled.  
  
"Luthien?"  
  
"No," she shook her head.  
  
"Idril? Melian?"  
  
Yet again, she shook her head.  
  
"Elwing? Gilraen?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Ismene?"  
  
A curious expression crossed the girl's face. "Ismene..." The name rolled easily off her tongue. "That is it!" She cried triumphantly. "My name is Ismene!"  
  
Just then, Estel heard a crack from beneath his feet.  
  
"What was that?" He shivered.  
  
"ESTEL!" Elrond's frantic cry echoed in his ears. That was the last thing he heard before...  
  
"ARGH!"  
  
The ice underfoot cracked, and the boy plunged into the icy waters below.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"ESTEL!" Elrond's heart stopped as he saw the boy plummet into the lake. He ran, feet barely touching the ground.  
  
The boy was clawing desperately, struggling to keep his head above the icy waters. "Ada, help me!" Then, his grip failed, and he slipped.  
  
The elf-lord was hardly breathing as he dived into the icy waters, ignoring the cold in search of his foster-son. Estel flailed, trying to rise to the surface. Elrond swam towards the boy, and grabbed his cloak. In one fluid motion he propelled them both to the surface, and threw him onto the ice, before pulling himself up.  
  
"Ada..." The boy choked. "Why are your robes torn?"  
  
Elrond pulled the boy into his arms, sobbing. "Oh, nin ion!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Thanks for reading! Please review! :-) 


	4. Chapter Three: Illness And Injuries

DISCLAIMER: See Prologue.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: A big thanks again to my reviewers: PoppySeed, aragog, Fay and hobbitsrfun. Keep 'em coming!  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
CHAPTER THREE: ILLNESS AND INJURIES  
  
"My sweet baby!" Gilraen whispered to the slumbering child in her arms, holding him more fiercely against her body, like a blanket of maternal love. Tears filed her hazelnut eyes as she remembered how close she had come to losing him today.  
  
"Gilraen?" Elrond opened the door slightly, slipping into Estel's bedroom, after having changed into dry (and not torn) robes. "How is he?"  
  
"He almost died today!" The woman cried, letting the child slip from her arms and onto his bed. A sob rose in her throat, soon encompassing her entire body.  
  
Elrond draped a comforting arm around the young woman, brushing a dark hair away from her face. "But he is safe now. Do not torture yourself by worrying about what might have happened. Estel is safe now, although he may require several days bed rest." The elf-lord sighed. "If it should ease your heart, Gilraen, I can concoct a tonic that will rob the memory of today Estel from Estel's mind."  
  
"Like a sort of amnesia?" She asked. Elrond nodded. Turning to cast a lingering look at the child who lay in peaceful slumber, she sighed. "Do it, please. I do not want the memory of today to scar him like it has me."  
  
With a nod, the elf-lord turned swiftly and strode down the hallway towards the apothecary, leaving mother and child alone again.  
  
"Amme?" His voice was like a whisper, barely audible above the gentle breeze that whistled outside. "Ada?"  
  
Bending to kiss her son's brow, Gilraen sighed. "Your Ada has gone to make you a tonic. It will make you feel much better."  
  
"My head hurts, Amme," Estel whimpered, burrowing into his mother's warm, comforting embrace. A violent cough wracked his tiny form, reverberating through his mother as she clutched her only child fiercely, rocking him and humming a soothing lullaby. His eyelid slipped over bleary sea-grey eyes, as Gilraen grazed a thumb over the curve of his cheek.  
  
Opening the door, Elrond glided into the room, carrying a bronze goblet that gleamed in the light on the enduring fire. He smiled at his foster- son, relief flooding through his veins. Setting the goblet on a table, he knelt beside the bed.  
  
"Ada, I feel ill." Another cough, more intense than the last, spluttered from the child. Elrond ruffled the boy's hair affectionately, before fetching the goblet and tilting it to Estel's lips. The boy swallowed gratefully. Removing the goblet, Elrond dabbed at the pink liquid dribbling down his foster-son's chin. Sleep soon overcame the boy.  
  
"He will have no memory of what happened today," Elrond assured Gilraen, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. "Come; let him sleep off this sickness." After ensuring her child was comfortably tucked in, Gilraen kissed his cheek, before following the elf-lord to the kitchen for a much needed brandy.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Elrond shook his head disdainfully. "Estel, really! Another cold! You have to take better care of yourself!" He lay a cool hand on the young man's feverish brow, before dabbing at the heated flesh with a damp cloth.  
  
"I do try, Ada!" The young man sneezed, burrowing deeper into the sheets of his bed, and resting his head on the pillow.  
  
"Here, drink this." Elrond handed his human son a silver goblet filled with a viscous, green liquid. The man accepted it reluctantly, his face contouring into a wave of disgust as the acrid tasting tonic slid down his throat. Dropping the goblet with a clang, his sea-grey eyes fluttered shut, his breathing growing more shallow. A strangled cough escaped his lips before he slid into the throes of slumber.  
  
"Quel kaima, nin ion," he whispered, sweeping a stray hair from Aragorn's face. "May you find healing in your slumber."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Lord Elrond was startled out of his reverie by a sharp knock on his study door. Rolling up the parchment he had been reading, he called, "Minno."  
  
Erestor threw open the door, his hair in disarray, struggling to regain his breath. "Hir-nîn! A party of travellers have arrived from Lorien!"  
  
Elrond leapt to his feet, racing along the corridor and down the stairs, taking them two at a time, breath fleeing his lungs. Could she be one of the arrivals? His heart pounding in anticipation, he rushed to the balcony, furtively scanning the crowd in the courtyard below.  
  
"ADA!" The joyous cry was like the sweetest music to his ears.  
  
"Arwen!" He cried. A smile on her lips, the dark-haired elf maiden sprinted across the courtyard, pushing her escorts aside as she hurried into her father's open arms. Elrond embraced his daughter, brushing kisses to her brow, her hair, cradling her like he had when she was a child. "This is a pleasant surprise, nin-iell," Elrond said, regaining his composure. "How long has it been?"  
  
Arwen smiled. "Ninety-seven years, five months and twelve days." She replied breathlessly. "What has happened in my absence? Tell me absolutely everything!"  
  
Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, Elrond led his daughter in from the harsh to cold the inviting warmth of the house. "Well..."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Aragorn groaned as the milky sunlight filtered through the translucent curtains of his chamber, rousing him from a peaceful slumber. Grinding a fist into his eye, he sat up and yawned, stretching his tired muscles. His stomach rumbled gently, crying out for the breakfast he could smell, filling the corridors. His mouth watered at the thought: fresh bacon, boiled eggs, herbal teas and toasted bread smothered in fruit jam.  
  
Hastily dressing, he threw on the clothing that had been laid out (by his mother, no doubt) on a chair beside the window. Tugging at the curtain, he pulled them open, gasping at the whiteness that lay before him.  
  
"Snow!"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The dining hall was unusually crowded this morning. Aragorn noted the presence of several unfamiliar elves seated at the tables. With a shrug, he took his seat between Glorfindel and Erestor at the head table.  
  
He inquired about the newcomers. Glorfindel smiled, and replied, "'Tis the escort of Lady Arwen. She returned from the woods of Lothlorien but yesterday."  
  
"Arwen..." Aragorn mused through a mouthful of toast. The name sounded familiar, rolling easily off his tongue. "She is Elrond's daughter, is she not?"  
  
"That is correct," Erestor said with a nod.  
  
"So, do I get to meet her?" Aragorn asked.  
  
"Later, Estel. Later," a voice from behind replied. The man turned to face his foster-father. "When you are finished eating, could you possibly fetch her for me? She will probably be in the old rose garden."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Traversing the gardens at a leisurely pace, Aragorn stared at the beauty around him. Such a wondrous time of year...  
  
Turning towards the old rose garden, the young man hesitated as something - or someone - caught his eye. A lone figure, cloaked in black, stood by the banks of the frozen lake, her dark hair billowing in the wind. There was something... eerily familiar about her.  
  
Descending the slope, Aragorn watched her intently. She appeared to have not noticed his presence, so enraptured she was in her own thoughts. Huddling into her cloak, she shivered, mouthing something to herself as she clasped her hands together in prayer.  
  
Suddenly, she looked up, meeting his eyes, a smile on her rose-coloured lips. Aragorn blushed, but embarrassment soon melted to amazement. Memories of a little girl, a girl who looked exactly like she who stood before him filled his mind. A name sprang to his lips. "Ismene!"  
  
Her smile faded, as she stiffened, horror flashing in her eyes. Without warning, she burst into a run, vanishing into the woods.  
  
"Ismene, tolad enni!" He cried, chasing her. "Tolad enni!"  
  
But still she ran, not heeding his calls, his pleas. Breath fleeing her lungs, she darted throughout the bare trees, before...  
  
"Ai!" Her shriek filled the chill air as she tumbled down an unseen slope, rolling uncontrollably before coming to a stop, a groan escaping her lips.  
  
"Ismene, are you hurt?" He asked, sliding down after her; but she recoiled, terror evident in her tourmaline eyes.  
  
"Kela!" She cried. "Kela!"  
  
"Ismene, surely you recognise me?" He said, yet he was unable to recall where he knew this maiden from, and how he knew her name.  
  
"My name is not Ismene!" She protested, inching away.  
  
Aragorn turned scarlet. "Oh, my lady, I am so sorry! Are you hurt?" The elf- maiden shook her head, although he could clearly she her swollen ankle - it was probably a sprain. "Here, take me hand." She accepted it gratefully, as he unsteadily pulled her to her feet.  
  
"Who are you?" She asked, sweeping snow off her cloak.  
  
He bowed his head respectfully. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn."  
  
A smile crossed her lips. "You are the one they call Estel, am I right?" At his nod, she replied, "Then I am glad to meet you, Aragorn. I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond."  
  
Aragorn stared incredulously, feeling himself becoming lost in her beautiful eyes. She was fairer than any stories he had heard about her could possibly describe. "I am truly sorry, my lady," he stammered, looking away; but she lifted his head and met his gaze.  
  
"I am not angry at you, son of Arathorn," she said, her voice like the song of a harp being plucked by nimble fingers. "However, I would be very grateful if you did not relay his incident to my father."  
  
"You have my word, Ada will never know of this," the young man replied solenmly, briefly wondering why she was so concerned. "But now, we should concentrate on getting you back to the house. Can you walk?"  
  
She nodded, her dark swaying gently. "Yes, I think." However, when she tried to climb the hill she had fallen down, she tumbled to the ground. "On second thoughts, could you possibly help me?"  
  
Without warning, Aragorn swept the elf-maiden into his arms, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfect alabaster skin, amazed at her lightness. "I will carry you."  
  
"Just be careful, and do not drop me! I do not want any more injuries!" She quipped, and their laughter echoed in the woods. "I was being serious," she said, which only elicited more hysterics from the two.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:  
  
Quel kaima = Sleep well.  
  
Minno = Enter  
  
Hir-nin = My lord  
  
Tolad enni = Come back  
  
Kela = Go away 


	5. Chapter Four: The Mystery Of Ismene

DISCAIMER: See Prolouge.  
  
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Another thank you to my reviewers: arabella thorne and Hoshi Tamamushiirono.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
CHAPTER FOUR: THE MYSTERY OF ISMENE  
  
Snow settled like stars in her midnight hair as Aragorn stepped closer to Arwen. With the elegance of a princess, she twirled, her black skirts kissing the snow-covered grass as sweet laughter, like the finest music, escaped her perfect lips.  
  
"Arwen..." he whispered, holding his hand out to her. Smiling, she accepted his hands, not protesting as his arms slid securely around her waist. She was so fragile, like an ice sculpture; he feared that, if he let go for but a second, she would melt or shatter in tiny fragments. A trembling hand caressed her face, brushing gently over the curve of her cheek. One finger stroked her pointed ear, so different from his own.  
  
"Aragorn..." Her voice was barely audible, but the sound of his name rolling off her tongue, escaping her lips, sent a prickle down his spine. So beautiful... so very beautiful, mysterious, and familiar...  
  
Then, like a mirage, she vanished, and he was alone in the snowy forest. His head spun frantically, searching for some sign of her; but he was utterly alone. She was gone, slipping from him like a shadow.  
  
"Estel," a low voice called. "Come play with me."  
  
"Ismene?" He replied, the name spilling from his lips before he even realised it. Who was Ismene, and why did her name fill his mind?  
  
A little girl, her dark plaits swaying in the slight breeze, skipped out from the trees. "Come play with me, Estel. Come play with me. Please."  
  
"Ismene," he repeated slowly. "Amin sinta lle?"  
  
Ismene giggled softly. "You are silly, Estel! You are my friend. Come! We can go skating!"  
  
Skating... "What is skating?" he asked. The word, like her name, like Arwen, sounded so familiar... and so inviting.  
  
"You'll see..."  
  
Aragorn followed the little girl, eager to know more about her. They were friends, or so she said. They descended a small hill, before stopping to face the ice-covered lake. "Come," Ismene said, taking his large hand in her smaller gloved one.  
  
"Estel..." The voice filled his ears. He looked up, staring across the lake at the maiden who was calling his name into the wind. "Estel..."  
  
"Arwen..."  
  
He let the child's hand slip from his grasp, and began to walk towards the maiden who beckoned him closer, stepping confidently onto the ice. Arwen began to cross the ice, to meet him in the centre of the frozen pool. His arms snaked around her waist, determined that she would not vanish this time. Their lips met in a gentle kiss.  
  
"Everyone always likes Arwen better than me!" Ismene wailed. Then, it happened.  
  
Aragorn plummeted through the ice, dragging Arwen with him, flaying desperately to stay afloat. Ice-cold water filled his lungs, crushing the air as he slipped beneath the frozen waters....  
  
Covered in sweat, panting for breath, Aragorn sat up in bed, his heart racing. It was just a dream... But it was so vivid! Almost like - no, it was impossible - it could not possibly be... a memory?  
  
Laying his head on the pillow, he closed his eyes, drifting into a dreamless sleep.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Ismene... The name echoed in Arwen's mind. How could he know? Had Elrond told him? No - Ada struggled to talk of it himself. But how else could Aragorn know?  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Aragorn checked his appearance in the mirror one last time, smoothing a crease from his navy tunic.  
  
"What are you doing, Aragorn?" His mother asked, peering in through the open door.  
  
"Amme! Sorry, I did not see you. Please, come in!"  
  
Gilraen slipped into her son's chamber, offering him a smile before her mouth dropped at the mountain of clothing that had gathered on the polished floor. "Aragorn! What do you call this mess?"  
  
"Um..."  
  
She shook her head in exasperation. "I do not care what you say, but you are not leaving this room until every item of clothing has been folded up and hung in your wardrobe." She eyed him suspiciously. "May I ask why the entire contents of your wardrobe are floor?"  
  
He shuffled his feet, face turning more scarlet than his mother's gown. "I just... want to look smart, that is all. Is that a crime?"  
  
Realisation dawned on Gilraen's face, filling her chestnut eyes with wonderment. "That was what I told my mother when your father was courting me!" She said, a nostalgic sigh escaping her lips as her mind drifted back to times when life had been so much simpler, times when she was a young woman, fresh out of childhood, smitten by a handsome Ranger who had befriended her father. Shaking herself back to the present, she stared at her son.  
  
"I am not courting anyone, Amme!" Aragorn said with a half-hearted laugh. "If you must know, I am going to see how Lady Arwen fares after her accident yesterday, that is all."  
  
"Aragorn..." Gilraen's tone became frantic, recognising the glimmer in her son's sea-grey eyes, the faint, ubiquitous grin that he seemed unaware of. "Aragorn, be careful! Do not fall in love with an elf!"  
  
In previous times, Aragorn would have laughed at his mother's comment. Now, however, his heart froze for but a moment. In love... He shook his head to dispell the thought. "Amme, I just want to see how she fares. After all, she is my sister, and besides, I only met the girl yesterday!"  
  
"All right," Gilraen said uncertainly, but she could not quell the fear in her heart, the fear that Aragorn may have to taste the bitterness of rejection before long. "Just... be careful."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Come in, Estel," Arwen called, not looking up from the leather-bound book she was reading.  
  
Aragorn pushed open the door, gazing at the beautiful maiden lying on a bed in the dreary healing room, her injured ankle propped up by a cushion, so engrossed in whatever story she was reading that she had not even acknowledged his presence. "I did not even knock! How did you know it was me?"  
  
Briefly lifting her gaze, Arwen smiled at him, and he felt his stomach flutter. "It was either you, or a damn noisy elf!" She replied with a laugh. "Beside, I have been expecting you. Please, sit down." She motioned to a wooden stool at her bedside, which Aragorn immediately seated himself upon.  
  
For several moments, the young human stared at the room in silence, at the coloured glass bottles that gleamed in the milky winter sunlight, the pristine beds so rarely slept in, but most of all, the luminescent maiden who lay before him, eyeing the ranger quizzically. He blushed, abashed that she had caught him looking at her. "So... what are you reading?"  
  
Arwen closed the book and placed it on a bedside table. "The Tale of Beren and Luthien," she replied, pulling herself up. "But I sense that you did not come here to learn more about my tastes in literature." Folding her arms across her chest, she leaned against the pillow. "Something troubles your heart; a problem to which you have no solution. You believe that I may hold some of the answers that you seek, or least offer some advice as to which path you might tread."  
  
"You truly are your father's daughter," Aragorn replied with a smile. Despite her psychical resemblance to Elrond, there was something about her character, her mannerisms, her innate wisdom that reminded him so much of the elf-lord. "That is correct."  
  
Arwen leaned forward eagerly. "I am listening."  
  
Aragorn took a deep breath. "Do you remember that name I called you yesterday? Ismene?" The elf-maid shuddered, and something flickered in her eyes - pain, possibly? He could not say. "Anyway..."  
  
He told her about his dream - omitting the part about their kiss, of course. "Then, she said that everyone liked you better than her. Do you know what that means?"  
  
Arwen eyes widened, a breath catching in her throat. Tears meandered down her pale cheeks as she sobbed quietly.  
  
Aragorn draped an arm around her shoulders. "Are you all right, Arwen?" he whispered soothingly, confused by her sudden outburst. She buried her face in his shoulders, weeping into his tunic. He stroked her dark hair, like liquid silk, her flowery scent filling her lungs. Finally, she raised her head, sapphire eyes meeting grey.  
  
"Arwen, why did you run away yesterday?" Aragorn asked. "And who is Ismene?"  
  
"I do not know..." she admitted sheepishly. "I was frightened."  
  
"You have nothing to fear from me," he replied with a smile, enclosing his hand over hers. She stared at him intently, and he felt his heart leap. "But you have not answered my second question. Who is Ismene?" As Arwen turned away, he added, "Please tell me, Arwen. I would ask Ada, but something in my heart tells me that he will not answer any of my questions. You are the only person I can ask. Please."  
  
Arwen met his eyes, seeing the flame of determination burning behind his dark pupils. 'He is actually quite handsome, for a human,' she thought for a moment, lifting a hand to brush a stray hair from his face. Her finger traced a path down his cheek, across the jaw line, the stubble on his chin.  
  
Aragorn's knuckle gently grazed her cheek, feeling the velvety skin melt under his cautious touch. Her fingers on his face made the very skin feel brimming with life. As one, they leaned forward, foreheads touching. Their eyes slipped shut and their lips met in the gentlest ghost of a kiss...  
  
Suddenly, a bottle toppled from the shelf and smashed against the floor, shattering into hundreds of minute glass fragments. "Mani marte?" Arwen asked, unable to disguise the shock in her voice. Suddenly, she stiffened. "Someone is coming..."  
  
Aragorn was on his feet in an instant, striding across the room to the mahogany door. Motioning Arwen to be silent, he placed a hand on the golden handle. He turned it slowly, carefully, pulling the door open suddenly.  
  
"Estel!" Elrond yelped, visibly gasping for breath. "You scared me to Mandos, Estel!"  
  
"As did you, Ada," the man gasped. "As did you."  
  
Elrond smiled, laying a hand on his chest to steady his heartbeat. "Quel amrun, Arwen. How are you feeling today?"  
  
"I am fine, Ada," she replied, feigning a grin.  
  
Aragorn suddenly blushed, remembering what transpired with Arwen before their interruption. "I... have to go. I promised Amme that I would... clean my chamber!" he said hurriedly as he brushed past Elrond, sparing neither him nor Arwen a backward glance.  
  
The elf-lord stared in confusion at his son's retreating back before turning to his injured daughter. "What was that about, Undomiel?"  
  
Arwen shrugged. "He... had to clean his chamber?" she replied feebly. Elrond narrowed his eyes, but said nothing more on the matter, turning to inspect his daughter's swollrn ankle. "Ada?" she asked meekly.  
  
"Yes, nin iell?" The elf-lord replied, lifting his gaze to meet her worried face.  
  
A lone tear dripped from her eyes. "How does Estel know about Ismene?"  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
TRANSLATIONS:  
  
Amin sinta lle = Do I know you?  
  
Quel amrun = Good morning.  
  
Mani marte? = What happened? 


	6. Chapter Five: Childhood Friends

DISCLAIMER: See Prologue. Oh, I should probably mention that all Elvish and translations are courtesy of LOTR Heaven and councilofelrond.com.  
  
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to my reviewers: A. Spencer, chococherry, Melissa Jooty, aragog, Hoshi Tamamushiirono, Exiled Knight and Liz. A thousand thanks!  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
CHAPTER FIVE: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS  
  
  
  
The first thing Aragorn did when arriving at his chamber was collapse on his bed.  
  
  
  
What in the name of Eru had he been thinking when he kissed Arwen? Then, his mother's voice echoed in his head: 'Do not fall in love with an elf!'  
  
  
  
Was he falling in love with Arwen? The thought itself was absurd. He was Edain, she was Eldar; she was destined to sail to Valinor when the elves time in Middle Earth was over; he was a mortal Man. All right, Aragorn was of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur, but that did not bless him with immortality, merely kept his soul free from Mandos' grasp for another few years. But, regardless of what argument his head offered, his heart could not be quelled; Aragorn knew he loved Arwen, and that greatly disturbed him.  
  
  
  
Then, there was the Ismene Mystery. Everyone else seemed to know something, something they would not divulge to him.  
  
  
  
Sitting up, he sighed, resting his head in his hands. Perhaps he had been living with the elves for too long. His people, the Dunadain, were in need of their Chieftain once more. It was time he stopped fretting about mysteries that could not be solved, and concentrate on more important matters.  
  
  
  
"Ah, there you are!" Gilraen's voice drew her son from his thoughts as she slipped into his (now tidy) chamber. "Aragorn, is something wrong?" she asked, her face etched with concern.  
  
  
  
"Everything is fine, Amme," he replied, standing. "Actually, I have been thinking. Perhaps it is time I focused more on my duties, by taking up a permanent position as a Ranger of Eriador." His statement stunned Gilraen into silence. "You and Ada have constantly told me that I cannot avoid my responsibilities for much longer, and you are right. I cannot hide behind the protection of the elves for the rest of my life."  
  
  
  
"Have you spoken to Elrond about this?" Gilraen said, her voice little more than a whisper as she gripped the table to steady herself.  
  
  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "No, not yet. I do, however, intend to bring up the matter with him this evening."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
"What?" Elrond stiffened, heart gripped with fear as tears filled his eyes.  
  
  
  
"Yesterday," Arwen began, needing to talk to someone to pull her heart from the mire of worry it had sunk into. "Yesterday, he called me Ismene, and he just told me that he dreamt about her last night, he dreamt about himself drowning."  
  
  
  
Elrond sat on the stool Estel had vacated moments earlier. "No, it cannot be! The potion... he should have no memories of that day!" Turning urgently to his daughter, a shuddery breath escaped his lips, blood rushing away from his now ashen face. "This is not possible!"  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
Aragorn shuffled nervously along the corridor towards the dining hall, quietly rehearsing what he intended to tell Elrond, but the words fled his minds like birds migrating to the South in the winter. With a sigh, he reached the mahogany doors and pushed them open, straightening his shoulders. Casting a gaze to the top table, the breath was stolen from his lungs. Sitting only two seats away from his chair, involved in an animated conversation with Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor, was Arwen.  
  
  
  
Suddenly, she lifted her eyes, and turned to face him. His heart leapt, though whether it was from nervousness or her sheer, unrivalled beauty, he could not tell, but felt his face burn scarlet. Meeting his gaze for a split second, she offered him a gentle smile, before returning to her conversation with Elrond and his councillors.  
  
  
  
However, Aragorn noted one thing: Elrond seemed to be staring at him. The elf-lord's gaze was capable of piercing even the strongest mind and most resolute heart. It was a weapon against which his foster-son had no defense, so the young human dropped his eyes to the floor, focusing on the intricate patterns as he made his way towards the table. His hand trembled as he pulled his chair and sank into it, swallowing apprehensively.  
  
  
  
"Quel undome, Estel," Elrond greeted, his expression and voice devoid of the paternal warmth Aragorn had grown so used to. "After dinner, come to my study. We need to talk."  
  
  
  
The young human visibly trembled. Had Arwen told her father of their kiss? What would Elrond? Kill Aragorn on the spot? Maybe; after all, Elrond had been - and still was - a skilled swordsman - but then again, he was also a healer. Intentionally causing pain was out with his nature. But, like the saying said, there was more than one way to flay an Orc. As dinner progressed, this Orc grew more and more uncomfortable.  
  
  
  
When Elrond was involved in a conversation with Glorfindel concerning the increasing number of Orc sightings in the Misty Mountains, Aragorn slipped out of the dining room, grabbing his cloak from the entrance hall before stepping outside.  
  
  
  
A chill breeze whipped his hair into his face, but he paid it no heed. An all-consuming dread filled his veins, coursing like poison in his blood. 'This may be the last night I ever spend in Imladris...' he thought with a sigh, sinking onto a marble bench on the balcony, absorbing the ethereal beauty of the only home he had ever know.  
  
  
  
Sudden, a prickle reverberated down his spine: he was being watched. Turning sharply, eyes ablaze with apprehension, a sigh escaped his lips.  
  
  
  
"I pray that you do not take this as insult, Estel, but for a ranger, you are easily caught off your guard." Arwen was unable to hide the amusement in her voice and the bemused smile that crossed her perfect, rose-coloured lips as she sat down beside the young man.  
  
  
  
Aragorn's face reddened as the memory as their earlier interlude flooded his mind, and he recoiled, his throat suddenly dry. "Lady Arwen, I wish to apologise for what happened earlier. It was completely unacceptable, and I was out of order and -"  
  
  
  
Arwen stilled him with her finger. "Estel, I am not angry at you, and you need not fear me. What happened today will stay strictly between us." She removed her finger from his lips, slowly, gently tracing the stubble on his chin. His eyes slipped shut as she stroked his cheek, nimble fingers dancing across the skin.  
  
  
  
The sound of a waltz being played drew Aragorn from his reverie. He opened his eyes to find that Arwen had closed hers and was swaying gently in time with the music. Her eyes fluttered open, and she offered the young human an apologetic smile. "Do you dance, Estel?" She asked suddenly.  
  
  
  
Aragorn shook his head. "'Tis a skill I could never be bothered to learn."  
  
  
  
She eyed him quizzically. "Well, we will have to do something about that." Then, as an afterthought, she added, "Are you telling me that Ada has not held one of his famed balls since I left for Lorien nigh on a century ago?"  
  
  
  
He shrugged. "Not in my lifetime, although he still insists that music be played after every meal as it -"  
  
  
  
"Aids his digestion!" They said in unison, bursting into fits of laughter.  
  
  
  
"Well, Ada has always been slightly eccentric. It comes of being so old and having seen so much." Arwen rose, smoothing the skirts of her cream dress. Illuminated the light of the moon, she looked like a handmaiden of Elbereth; though Aragorn doubted that even the elven goddess was as fair as she who stood before him. "I must go now. Ada insists that I rest often."  
  
  
  
"How is your ankle, by the way?" Aragorn inquired. "Do you need any help?"  
  
  
  
"Thank you for your concern, Estel, but I shall fine," she offered him a friendly smile that caused his heart to somersault. "Tenna' tul're."  
  
  
  
"Tenna' tul're," he whispered in reply, watching her stride easily into the House, her elven metabolism obviously having healed her injury. "Meleth- nin."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
It was late evening when Aragorn stood, having rehearsed and re-rehearsed his speech to Elrond, and mused over innumerable theories as to why his foster-father wanted to talk to him. Casting one last look at the night sky, he sighed, before turning towards the entrance.  
  
  
  
"Estel..." A soft voice called, barely audible above the gentle, whistling breeze. "Tula sinome, mellon amin."  
  
  
  
"Ya naa lle?" He called, a chill reverberating down his spine. But somewhere, in the deepest caverns of his mind, Aragorn already knew the answer. Ismene.  
  
  
  
"Lle naa tulien?" The child called, appearing from behind a pillar, dark braids swinging slightly in the wind. Hands folded behind her back, she began to skip happily along the balcony, singing an improvised nonsense song.  
  
  
  
'But how can this be?' Aragorn thought, bewilderment etched on his face. 'She was a little girl when I last saw, and that was years ago.'  
  
  
  
Suddenly, he hesitated, his head pounding. So he *had* seen her before, when he was younger. But when? And why did her very presence send icicles of anxiety down his spine?  
  
  
  
"Asca!" The child called, waving him onwards. Her skips turned to a run, and she raced down the marble stairs, taking them two at a time. "Asca, Estel!"  
  
  
  
Shaking off the overwhelming feeling of dread that threatened to consume him, Aragorn decided to play along with Ismene's game. Perhaps she herself would reveal the information that would solve this mystery. "Manka lle merna, Ismene," he replied, slipping after the girl as she scurried into the garden.  
  
  
  
She strode across the snow-covered grass, her feet leaving no imprint in the pristine white blanket of ice. Aragorn followed, curiosity flooding his veins. Somehow, he knew that tonight he would find the answers to the questions that pounded like a drum in his head - well, at least some answers. The Arwen debate could wait for the moment.  
  
  
  
The child stiffened suddenly, coming to a halt before the tall rowan tree whose bare branches seemed to scrap the very sky, touching the minute diamond stars. It loomed over Ismene like a monster, her fragility becoming obvious in the face of such strength.  
  
  
  
"Estel..." She whispered sweetly, a coy smile on her lips. "Estel..."  
  
  
  
Like a bee to a spring flower, the man drew closer to the child.  
  
  
  
A faint rumble made Aragorn stop, if only briefly. He spun round, but seeing nothing, turned back to the child who stared at him with wide-eyed innocence. Shrugging off the feeling of disquiet in his heart, he took a hesitant step forward.  
  
A flash of lightning crashed to earth, slamming into the rowan tree, stabbing its very heart. Before he could run, a branch snapped away from the bough, and hit Aragorn squarely on the head.  
  
He was falling; falling in blackness. His body numbed, sensation feeling his limbs as he crumpled to the snow-covered ground below, feeling the searing pain against his skull for but a second before being engulfed in the throes of unconsciousness.  
  
"Now you can be my friend forever!" Ismene announced  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:  
  
  
  
Quel undome - Good evening  
  
  
  
Tenna' tul're - Until tomorrow  
  
  
  
Meleth-nin - my love  
  
  
  
Tula sinome, mellon amin - Come here, my friend.  
  
  
  
Ya naa lle? - Who are you?  
  
  
  
Lle naa tulien? - Are you coming?  
  
  
  
Asca - Hurry!  
  
  
  
Manka lle merna - If you wish. 


	7. Chapter Six: Brain Fever

DISCLAIMER: See previous chapters.  
  
  
  
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to my latest batch of reviewers: Arwen, arabella thorne, Midnight Dove, Hoshi Tamamushiirono, Kaz, Exiled-Knight, A. Spencer, Sammy, Melissa Jooty, aragog, Songbreeze Swifteye and Manders- chan. I've been completely blown away by your support!  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
CHAPTER SIX: BRAIN FEVER  
  
  
  
"Let's play!" Ismene giggled, pulling the young man to his feet and brushing the snow off his back.  
  
  
  
Dazed, his vision blurred, Estel stood shakily, trying to clear the fog that had wrapped itself around his mind. "Ismene?"  
  
  
  
The little elfling nodded cheerfully, pointing in the direction of the lake. "Come with me, Estel, mellon amin. There is much to do."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
Arwen's eyes snapped open from a particularly vivid dream, and she sat up, surprised that she had dozed off on the couch. Such a curious dream... Only snatches of it lingered in her memory, but the essence remained.  
  
  
  
Ismene... The little girl's name echoed in her mind. It had been centuries beyond count since Arwen had watched helplessly as the child was pulled, unconscious, from the frozen pond; yet still, the pain remained raw in heart. It was as though a fistful of salt had been ground into the searing wound that caused her very soul to cry out in agony.  
  
  
  
Standing, she crossed her chamber and gazed out over the pristine blanket of frozen, powdery whiteness that adorned the once lush gardens of Imladris. She sighed; beauty existed even the bleak and bitter midwinter.  
  
  
  
From the shadows of the House, a figure emerged into the serene landscape. Arwen felt her heart begin to flutter as Estel crossed the snow-covered grass, wandering about the gardens. Bathed in the light of moon, dressed in fine Elven robes that seemed to hang uncomfortably about his Human shoulders, Arwen sensed something around him; a growing discontent of this elven life he had been leading. If her intuition was correct, what he longed for was the freedom that he had tasted in his short time as Ranger - a freedom she almost wished would not be granted in the near future - after all, she had only just met the young man, and would like to get to know him better.  
  
  
  
Sapphire eyes glittering the candlelight, she watched him stride towards the rowan, and stop abruptly. It was almost as if he was waiting for something. The next sight that greeted Arwen caused her heart to plummet into her stomach.  
  
  
  
From the clear evening sky, a bolt of lightning pierced the tree, snapping off a branch; a branch that slammed into Estel's skull.  
  
  
  
"ESTEL!" She shrieked, her blood turning to ice.  
  
  
  
Without thinking, she darted down the hallway, running to the gardens were he lay unconscious upon a bed of snow. Then, echoing in her mind, she heard the eerily familiar voice that sent icicles down her spine. "Now he is mine!"  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
It was not without curiosity that Estel trudged behind the skipping elfling, his footprints leaving indents in the pristine blanket of white that lay about him. Dressed all in blue, Ismene looked like a sprite as she danced along the path. Now, she was singing another song, one Estel was very familiar with: the Lay of Luthien. The tale was beginning to resemble his life, he thought. A mortal man falling in the love with the fairest elf- maiden of her day.  
  
  
  
"Why do you think of her still?" Ismene asked, stopping so that she could turn to face him.  
  
  
  
"Think of who?"  
  
  
  
"Arwen," she answered simply, unfazed by the incredulous look that crossed the young man's face. "She will never love you like you love her. Have you not already seen that? You are her friend; just her friend. But you are *my* best friend!" She smiled. "And I love you!"  
  
  
  
Before Estel could protest, she skipped towards him, pulling him down to her eye-level and planting a sticky kiss on his cheek. "We can be friends forever!"  
  
  
  
"Ismene..." he asked, extracting himself from the child's embrace. "Where are we?"  
  
  
  
"My world, silly!"  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
The hour was growing late, and Aragorn had not arrived for his arranged meeting with Elrond. The elf-lord shook his head in disdain. It was unlike the young human to be this late; in fact, he was renowned for his punctuality. Sinking into a chair beside the fire that bathed his study in a soft orange glow, he sighed, and rubbed his forehead soothingly. Perhaps he should take advantage of this delay, and practice what he would say to Aragorn.  
  
  
  
At the sound of footsteps, the elf-lord rose. Opening his study door and peering into the hallway, he called to the woman who was descending the stairs. "Gilraen, have you seen your son?"  
  
  
  
"No," she replied, her voice laced with sudden worry. "Why? Is something wrong, Elrond?"  
  
  
  
"I do not think so," he said, leaning against the door frame. "I had planned to talk with him, but he has not arrived. I was wondering if you had seen him at all in the last few hours."  
  
  
  
"Not since dinner."  
  
  
  
Elrond frowned. "Perhaps he is in his chamber. Let us check there." The elf- lord strode along the corridor, followed quickly by Gilraen. He turned a corner, and found himself pushed to the ground but his near-hysterical daughter.  
  
  
  
"Arwen, what in the name of Eru is wrong?" He gasped, pulling her to her feet.  
  
  
  
A waterfall of tears cascaded down her face. "Estel! He is hurt!"  
  
  
  
"WHAT?" Gilraen grasped a nearby tabled for support. "How? Where? Is he all right?" She demanded.  
  
  
  
"Follow me," she choked, bursting into a run, as her father and Aragorn's mother raced after the elf-maiden.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
"Your world?"  
  
  
  
The little girl nodded, a coy smile playing on her lips. "You will love it here, Estel, because it is *always* winter! We can build snow-elves and have snowball fights all day long, and we can go skating - but that is not all that important. What matters is that we will always be together!"  
  
  
  
The young man backed away. "You are crazy! Let me go now!"  
  
  
  
Her lower lip trembled. "Do you not want to be my friend?" She sank to the ground, burying her head in her knees as violent sobs wracked her slender physique.  
  
  
  
Feeling immensely guilty, Estel knelt down beside the child and rubbed her back soothingly. "Are you all right, Ismene?"  
  
  
  
"No," she sobbed. "Everyone liked Arwen better than me, all because she was prettier and smarter. No-one liked Ismene. All the children wanted to Arwen's friend, not Ismene's friend. They told her that she was not good enough, that they liked Arwen better."  
  
  
  
"At least you grew up around other children," Estel whispered. "I had no- one."  
  
  
  
"You had me," she said, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her dress. "Stay with me, Estel." Ismene grabbed his hand. "We can be friends forever; forever!"  
  
  
  
"Child, you must understand," he said with a sigh. "I have a home to return to, with people who love me and need me. I have to return to them. Can you not let me go? Surely you have a family who love you too?"  
  
  
  
"They locked me in a box," she whimpered standing. "I kicked and screamed to get out, but they did not listen. They buried the box in the earth, and erected a statue to guard me. They did not love me." Ismene turned to the young human with haunting eyes. "But you set me free. You wished for a friend, and I came."  
  
  
  
Suddenly, as Estel's eyes fluttered shut, a wave of memories struck him. He was powerless against the violent current.  
  
  
  
Water; icy cold water. He felt the breath flee his lungs as he struggled for air, flaying his arms wildly. Ismene stood on the ice above, watching him with a sadistic smile as he tried to propel himself to the surface - but the more he swam, the farther away it seemed to be. The cold gnawed at his limbs, like a ravenous death chewing on a bone.  
  
  
  
"Soon, you will be mine!" Ismene giggled. "And we will be together always."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
"Will he be all right?" Gilraen's voice was barely audible over the howls of the wind and her own strangled sobs as she squeezed her son's hand as he lay sprawled on a bed of snow.  
  
  
  
Elrond and Arwen were bent over the unconscious human, wary of his arms as he thrashed violently in his coma-state. Arwen lifted his head from the pool of crimson, into her lap, not caring that his blood tainted her dress. What use was a dress when her heart seemed to cry out in an agony even more powerful than anything she could have ever imagined.  
  
  
  
Erestor and Glorfindel stood awkwardly in the background, knowing that there was little they could do, except keep away the crowd of elves who had gathered to see what all this commotion was about.  
  
  
  
"Gilraen, I cannot lie to you," the elf-lord said with an inadvertent sigh. "Estel's head injury is superficial, so you need not worry." Elrond looked away to hide the tears in his eyes. "But his condition perplexes me. I can only assume that he is suffering from some sort of brain-fever."  
  
  
  
Arwen gasped. "Brain fever? But that means..."  
  
  
  
"What?" Gilraen pressed. "What does it mean? Elrond?" She turned to the elf- lord, one hand smoothing her son's flyaway hair, a pleading look in her eyes.  
  
  
  
Elrond's voice was hard as stone. "In his unconscious state, Estel is at risk from violent nightmares. If he is at all injured - or even worse - killed in this state," he swallowed, feeling his throat begin to constrict as hot tears stung his eyes, "Estel will die in real life."  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
For all you mathematicians out there, here's a little equation:  
  
  
  
AUTHOR + CLIFFHANGER = SATAN.  
  
  
  
Until the next chapter! Ooh, I *love* being evil. 


	8. Chapter Seven: The World Of Shadows

DISCLAIMER: See Prologue.  
  
  
  
SPECIAL MENTIONS: Thanks to my latest batch of reviewers: HobbitsRFun, ArwenUndomiel89, Arwen, A.Spencer, Exiled-Knight, LOTr Rocks, Sammy, Kaz, Katherine Silverhair, aragog, Hoshi Tamamushiirono, Fayth, Songbreeze Swifteye and Arwen. THANK YOU!!!!!!  
  
  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: *Laughs sadistically* Since I've been extermely evil for the previous few chapters, I've decided to pospone the big cliffhanger until chapter eight, giving you all some time to recover from the previous two.   
  
  
  
R&R, please? Flames will be passed onto Ismene so she can cause more havoc - on second thoughts, bad idea. Valar only knows what she is capable of... So don't flame me, unless you want Rivendell burnt to the ground *shudders*  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE WORLD OF SHADOWS  
  
  
  
Aragorn's head lolled in Gilraen's lap as a strangled groan escaped his lips.  
  
  
  
"What is happening?" she cried, tear-filled eyes meeting Elrond's as her voice quivered from panic. "What is happening to my son?"  
  
  
  
Elrond dropped to his knees in silence, terror etched on his features. He grabbed Aragorn's clammy hand and bent over the young man. "Estel, lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad! Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad!" {Listen to my voice, come back to the light.}  
  
  
  
Arwen felt her heart stop. Was Aragorn going to die? Violent tears meandered down her cheeks. No - he could not die! Surely Mandos would not snatch him from her now... Not Mandos, she corrected herself, but Ismene.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
Estel was choking. His arms flayed violently as he tried to push himself to the surface, his lungs screaming for air. But his limbs were ensnared in the clutches of the frozen water. He was sinking, sinking...  
  
  
  
Then, a pale light, like liquid mithirl, surrounded him. Somewhere in the distance, through the rapidly increasing expanse of water, he could hear a frantic, domineering voice calling to him. His body was too weak from lack of air and the cold to strain his ears - all he knew was that the words were Sindarin, the language he had grown up hearing.  
  
  
  
His eyes slipped shut as he descended into blackness.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
When Elrond stepped away from Aragorn's still form, Arwen saw something she had not for years beyond count - the glimmer of tears in his chestnut eyes, sorrow breaking through his indifferent mask worn in front of both friends, family and strangers alike.  
  
  
  
"So falls the last Heir of Isildur," he choked, emotion breaking into his voice as he tried to speak over Gilraen's hysterical sobs of grief. "Not at the hand of Sauron nor any of his vilest minions, not in the service of others, but by a cruel twist of fate."  
  
  
  
"NO!" Arwen cried, tears rolling unhindered down her perfect alabaster cheeks. "I refuse to believe it!" Pushing her father aside, leaving him to comfort the overwhelmed woman, still in so much shock over her son's sudden - and tragic - death.   
  
  
  
Dropping to her knees, Arwen pressed a hand to Aragorn's still, lifeless heart, and laced her fingers through his. Drawing strength from the Elven magic flowing like blood through her body, she felt spirit and body slowly break away, as she melted into the Shadow World.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
The first thing Aragorn knew was terror.  
  
  
  
Sinister shadows danced around him, chanting in some long-forgotten tongue. Though the words were incomprehensible, Aragorn sensed that they spoke of ill tidings and, like the very heralds of Doom. Black curls of smoke swirled around him, but no comforting fires could penetrate the thick mist that had ensnared the man in its menacing clutches.  
  
  
  
'I am dead,' he realised numbly, sinking to the stone underfoot. 'Dead...'  
  
  
  
"My son..." a voice called through the shadows. Aragorn turned - but he remained alone, save the dark forms that encircled him. "I know you can hear me, Aragorn."  
  
  
  
"Who are you?" He called, his voice quivering. Their was something vaguely familiar, almost comforting, at the eerie voice that called to him through the darkness, sending prickles down his spine. "Father?" he almost whispered, wondering for the briefest moment if his father - not Elrond, not Arathorn son of Arador - was here.  
  
  
  
The voice grew quiet, almost mournful. "I would have loved to watch you grow up, watched you blossom from that talkative little two-year-old into this young man who sits before me now. You should not be here - not now. Your time upon Middle Earth is not over."  
  
  
  
"Father, what are saying?" Aragorn asked in amazement. "That I should not be dead?" Dead - beyond the Circles of the World. Gone from all whom he loved, and all who loved him. Never again would he chase Elladan and Elrohir around the gardens in the summer; never again would he be able to confide some secret in Elrond - never again would he feel Arwen's lips against his own...   
  
  
  
"You will soon have a battle to fight, my son," Arathorn's voice drew Aragorn from his thoughts of Arwen. "Fight her with all your strength, all the willpower you possess, and you will depart this place."  
  
  
  
Aragorn nodded, knowing all too well of the adversary his father spoke of.  
  
  
  
"And when you return to Middle Earth, let all whom you love know. I did not let your mother know the depth of my love for her," he sighed, "And now it is too late. Never allow your beloved to feel the same way. Tell her at your first opportunity..." the voice faded away, until all that remained were the dark apparitions that swirled around Aragorn.  
  
  
  
"Estel..." Hearing the deviously innocent call of Ismene, the man leapt to his feet. "Estel, mellon amin, where are you hiding?"  
  
  
  
"Let me go!" He shouted into the mist.   
  
  
  
"You cannot go back," she replied, her eerie intonations echoing all around him. "I could not go back when I was brought here. They just left me in the darkness. And I cried, I cried for my Amme and my Ada, and my brothers and my sister, but no-one came to get me! They abandoned me!" Then, the mists parted. Bathed in a silver glow, Ismene emerged, cloaked entirely in black. "But I am not alone anymore - you are here!"  
  
  
  
"Estel..." He turned, his mouth dropping open in amazement. Arwen, cloaked entirely in white, the light of Iluvatar shining from within her, was walking towards him!  
  
  
  
She held out her hand, her lovely face devoid of any expression. "Tula, Estel. [Come, Estel." He reached out, praying this was not some vision or a vain hope manifested in this dream. Like the touch of an Angel of Eru, her silken hand slid into his calloused grasp. "Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad." Her voice was like the sound of a harp being plucked by nimble fingers. It seemed wrong to refuse her request - she could only be taking him away from the sinister clutches of this devious little child.  
  
  
  
"No! He is mine!" Ismene's agonised wail filled the air. "Leave him alone, Arwen! Do not take him from me!"  
  
  
  
"I take Aragorn nowhere," she replied, unfazed. "He comes of his own free will."  
  
  
  
"No!" The child shrieked, diving out from her hiding place. "Keep your hands off him!"  
  
  
  
"Ismene," Arwen said warningly. "Let him go. The time of his death is not your choice to make."  
  
  
  
Hearing those words, her control snapped. "You... wench!" she shouted, throwing the most vile curse word she knew at Arwen. "Amin delotha lle!" [I hate you!] The child's hand raised above her head, her finger pointed at the elf-maiden who still gripped Aragorn's hand fiercely. He watched in horrified fascination as Ismene's serene glow turned dark, black like a poison. He swallowed, pulling Arwen into his arms for comfort. What was the child going to do?  
  
  
  
However, Arwen seemed strangely calm. "Be gone!" She commanded, lifting her hand to the sky.  
  
  
  
A bolt of lightning crashed to earth, illuminating the darkness for but a moment before Aragron was plunged into a swirl of blinding colours. He reached for Arwen, needing to feel the comfort she offered, but she was gone - as was the child, he noted. Violent winds thrashed his body as he plummeted, muttering a prayer to Elbereth for an end to this torture as his eyes slipped shut.  
  
  
  
Suddenly, he crashed to the ground, gasping for air. Blinking, it took a moment for him to realise that he was outdoors, lying on his back in the snow, with Arwen kneeling over him, tears meandering down her cheeks.  
  
  
  
"Am I... dead?" He choked, his head pounding as a trickle of blood streamed down his face.   
  
  
  
"Oh, my son!" Gilraen enfolded her arms around his shoulders, sobbing violently into his neck. "My baby! Oh, thank the Valar that you are all right!" Trembling lips kissed his hair, and she moved to clutch him feverishly to her body, once Arwen had reluctantly stepped away. Gilraen covered his brow in desperate kisses, hysterical tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, my darling!"  
  
  
  
Even Elrond could not contain his happiness at seeing the man alive. "We thought that we had lost you, Estel!" The elf-lord joined Gilraen in a thankful embrace with his foster-son.  
  
  
  
"What in the name of Eru happened?" Aragorn asked, feeling himself crushed as another body was pressed against his - Arwen's. She dropped a gentle kiss to his brow, a single tear dripping from her face onto his.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
After carrying Aragorn to the hospital wing (with the help of Glorfindel and Erestor), Elrond bandaged his forster son's head wound and gave the man a sleeping tonic. He, Gilraen and Arwen watching intently as Aragorn slipped into the throes of slumber.  
  
  
  
Elrond placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "Arwen, there is something we must discuss," he whispered. "Gilraen, we will be in my study if you require us."  
  
  
  
She nodded, barely acknowledging his words as she sank into an armchair. This had been a stressful evening, and while she would like nothing more than a cup of hot peppermint tea, and a bath and some sleep, her maternal instincts would not allow her to take her eyes off her son for but a second. She had almost lost him today - not for the first time, but tonight, he had actually died. It was a miracle had Lady Arwen had been able to pull his spirit from the Shadow World, when even Elrond himself was powerless to do anything.  
  
  
  
Aragorn rolled onto his side, mouth slightly open, eyes rolling beneath closed eyelids. His lips melted into a smile. Was he dreaming? Then, he murmured a name in his sleep. "Arwen..."  
  
  
  
Gilraen sat bolt upright. Arwen... The conversation she had held with her son earlier in the day come floating back to her. "Do not fall in love with an elf!" She sighed. It was too late now - if his dreams were anything to gauge by, Gilraen knew that her son had already lost his heart. But Arwen could never love him. She could only pray that, when the time came, the elf-maiden would not hurt Aragorn too badly when she was forced to break his heart.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
"I did not know that your healing skills were a adept as to pull someone from the very grasp of Mandos," Elrond commented, sinking into a chair beside the enduring fire in his study. "Havo dad, nin iell." [Sit down, my daughter.]  
  
  
  
"Estel was not taken from us by Mandos," Arwen replied as she leaned against the mahogany table, still in a state of shock over the evening's events. "Even I am unsure as to how I managed it," she said thoughtfully. "But I sense that there is a sinister force within Imladris, and it was this that tried to take him from us."  
  
  
  
Elrond shuddered. He too had felt that same tingles run down his spine, as though someone was watching, yet there was never anyone in the proximity. In the end, he supposed that whatever caused him to feel uneasy was most likely paranoia. "No evil has entered this city since it was built in the Second Age," he said firmly. "And no such evil ever will!"  
  
  
  
Arwen sighed as she stood, crossing the room in slow, uneasy steps until she came to the window. A chill reverberated throughout her body - and not just from the cold. Somewhere in the dark hallways, lurking behind a statue and waiting to pounce upon her prey, was an enemy waiting to claim someone very dear to her heart, an enemy that Arwen had no idea how to fight.  
  
  
  
A ghost.  
  
  
  
Turning back to her father, Arwen exhaled a deep, calming breath. "'Quel undome, Ada," [Good night, Father.] she said, placing a kiss on his cheek.  
  
  
  
"Quel esta, Arwen," [Rest well] he replied, holding the door open for her.   
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
The marble statue of Nienna gleamed with the pale radiance of the moon, as the Lady of Pity cast her loving gaze upon the snow-covered earth. Had Arwen not known the significance of the figurine, she supposed that visits to this tranquil spot where she had played as a child would be much more enjoyable. But pleasure was the farthest thing from her mind as she stepped through the bare trees, pausing for a moment to absorb her grief as she stood before the grave of her adversary.  
  
  
  
"Why do you do this, Ismene?" she whispered, but the area remained still, enshrouded in an almost deathly. "I have borne you no ill tidings; I have not cursed you, nor spat upon the earth you buried under. I have not tarnished your memory - you seem more than capable of that yourself."  
  
  
  
The icy breeze swirled around Arwen's body as she pulled her thick cloak tighter around her. "Since the day of your death, I have mourned you constantly. Countless tears have fallen from my eyes, and I do not know how many times I have knelt before this very statue, praying to see you alive for but a day. When I was first shown the Mirror of Galadriel centuries ago, do you know what the first image I saw was? It was you, Ismene. I saw what you would look like had you lived."  
  
  
  
Removing her gloves, Arwen placed a kiss on two fingers, pressing them to the statue's forehead. "Namarie, tithen min," [good-bye, little one] she whispered.  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
  
  
His head still pounding, Aragorn sat up in his bed in the hospital wings, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. His mother lay slumped in her chair, fast asleep, one of her hands still firmly gripping his like a lifeline. Careful not to wake Gilraen, Aragorn disentangled his hand his from her grasp, before stepping out of bed to wrap a blanket around her trembling form.  
  
  
  
The fire was dying. He threw some more coals onto the embers flickering in their last moments of life, bathing the room in a gentle glow, like the first seconds of a summer dawn.  
  
  
  
The door swung open cautiously, and he smiled as Arwen slipped into the room, her cheeks slightly red from the cold. In silence, she joined him on the floor, resting her head on his shoulder. Aragorn encircled his arm around her back, allowing his body to feed warmth into hers. One of her hands clutched his shirt fiercely, as if afraid to let go.  
  
  
  
"Arwen," he said softly, tilting her chin so he could meet her tear-filled eyes. "I am alive. This is not some dream - I am real."  
  
  
  
"I know, Estel," she whispered. "Today had just been so... surreal. You died, yet you are alive again. Perhaps it was not a true death, because it was not Mandos that instigated it, but you left us nonetheless."  
  
  
  
A single tear fell from her eye, tricking down her perfect skin. Aragorn brushed it away. Feeling impulsive, he placed a tender kiss on her forehead. She relaxed in his arms, loosening her grip, yet puling him closer still.  
  
  
  
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for saving me."  
  
  
  
"You saved yourself," Arwen replied, resting a hand on his heart. "Estel, I only offered you the means. It was your own strength and your love for those you had left behind that brought you back to us. Only you have the power to fight Ismene, because it is you alone that she wants."  
  
  
  
Aragorn lay a finger on her lips to silence her. "Let us not talk of death tonight. Let us talk of life."  
  
  
  
Arwen raised a hand to caress his cheek. Her touch sent prickles down his spine, and he felt his heart leap as her eyes slipped shut, and she leaned closer. Before Aragorn knew what was happening, he had lowered his lips to Arwen's, kissing her gently, inhaling her floral scent, etching her forever into his memory. Arwen sighed against him, her mouth opening beneath his, giving him her permission to deepen their kiss. Her hands entangled in his dark hair, while his grip on her waist tightened.  
  
  
  
Neither of them were aware of the glassy blue eyes that stared at them both with a white hot hatred.  
  
  
  
From her perch in the oak tree outside the hospital wing, Ismene felt a powerful hatred surge through her like a poison. She watched Aragorn as he kissed Arwen softly, feeling her loathing towards the elf-maiden grow until it reached murderous proportions.  
  
  
  
"He *will* be mine!" The child declared, a plan forming in her mind. "Make no mistake about that. Estel will be mine!"  
  
  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
  
  
P.S. A big thank you for reading my stories. If you would like to receive an email whenever I update or add a new fic, leave your address in a review or email me at princessevenstar0104@hotmail.com, telling me what story(s) you are interested in. 


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